Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Living With Her

She aches.
And would have me think
it had to do with rivers.

She talks.
Her voice a wheel
and every station on it.

And what she doesn't say
makes the sound of wind in the trees.

She walks,
her path the years sown beside her.

She sleeps.
And her sleep becomes
the river I build
my house beside.

So, on which bank of the river
am I now, waking or dreaming?

She says, Come away from the window. Lie down.
There's no dark out there that isn't first in you.

Close the door. Come lie down.
There's no ocean out there not already in you.

What a narrow residence,
the lifetime of her eyes.

-Li-Young Lee

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